


stress and release

by Notawriterjustalurker



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Newly established relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, inappropriate workplace behaviour, karen is not talking for once, matt is stressed, messy blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/pseuds/Notawriterjustalurker
Summary: What can I say about this?Matt gets some head. That's it. That's the fic.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 13
Kudos: 26





	stress and release

**Author's Note:**

> You might say I wrote this horny fic about Matt being stressed because I am projecting. You might....
> 
> *runs away*

As much as Matt would never admit it — at least not out loud — things have actually been harder since him and Karen officially became an item.

She's been spending more time out in the City and less time in the office. And when she does come by, she's in and out like a flash. Nothing more than a fleeting taste of her on the breeze. If she stays any longer than that, it's a rare treat, rather than an expectation.

But today it takes longer than it should for him to sense her presence on the stairway. One, because, for once, he's busy too — working two cases on his own and drowning in paperwork, to be exact. Two, he's still adjusting to the new sound of her since she decided to swap out the high heels in favour of much more practical sneakers. 

But he still knows it's her. Two steps at time — because one after the other just isn't quite fast enough. A bag on her shoulder, bumping her thigh, her hair up in a steadily swinging ponytail.

He can't do anything while he's waiting for her to arrive — he's stuck in a state of inaction because his mind is somewhere else. Somewhere that's not his work — his senses drifting far too easily. Distracting him.

It's been one of those days. 

But he pretends he sort of hasn't noticed when the door cracks open, like maybe he's too engrossed in his reading, when really he's just trying to hide his excitement over the fact that so far, Karen's about the only good thing that's happened to today. 

"Karen," he says, faking his surprise. "Hi."

She pokes her head around the door and he gestures her in, pulling out his ear buds that weren't playing anything anyway. 

"Hey, handsome." 

Matt chokes on a patch of something dry in his throat, feeling compelled, suddenly, to draw his slouching body up from the seat of his comfy office chair. "Handsome, huh?" He's not blushing.

"You not like?" Karen dumps her bag on the floor and slips off her jacket. "It's about time we did the pet name thing, don't you think?"

She's in a good mood today, for whatever reason. Glowing, actually. He doesn't even have to guess at it.

But despite that, Matt mostly conceals his smile with a serious look that comes way too easy to him. "As long as you don't damage my reputation, Karen."

"Your reputation?"

"Yeah," he says obviously.

"Oh… you mean as a ruthless ambassador for justice? A bloodthirsty protector of Hell's Kitchen?"

Matt raises both brows at once. "Is that what I am?"

Karen shrugs, catching her lip. "Occasionally I suppose," pausing to run her eyes over his desk, which is messier than usual; a sea of braille and empty coffee cups. Her fingers glide briefly over one of the pages, just to feel the texture. He loves when she does that. "I actually came to ask you if you wanted to catch some lunch, but, looking at this…" she gestures broadly to his work space. "You're busy?"

Matt sighs, realising he hadn't even thought about — what time even is it? "Shit. Karen. I hadn't… uh."

Karen puts a hand squarely on her hip. "This doesn't qualify as lunch, you know." Scolding him by picking up an empty cup and tapping at the cardboard with her nail.

"I know," he agrees. Matt's the first to admit when he's been medicating all of his problems with caffeine. Is it healthy? No. But Matt, and stress, and caffeine have a friendship that stretches all the way back to his college days. Besides, Karen's hardly one to talk on the matter.

"You should take a break," she tells him, dragging her feet and walking herself in a circle around his chair, Matt, finding himself unable to turn because of the way he's still partially tucked under his desk.

The backs of her nails brush casually over his shoulder as she goes, ending in a light squeeze just below his shirt collar. She does it without thinking — without meaning, Matt's pretty certain. But he notices because he's sore there. Sore from a fight two nights ago. Sore from pummeling leather at the gym in a consequent attempt to loosen up, but in turn, as usual, only managing to make it worse.

He gives himself away when the file he'd been half way through doing something with flops loosely back onto the desk.

"Matt?"

He's forgotten they were even having a conversation. A two way one, specifically. The questioning tone in her voice is a zinging sound that cuts through the static buzz of his brain. 

"Sorry," he mumbles. "What were you —"

But Karen's too observant for her own good.

She runs her hands over his back again, squaring herself firmly behind him and this time, there's a smile in her voice. "Is this good?" she asks. "Are you tense?" 

Matt groans in answer as she simultaneously squeezes and commands every hair on the back of his neck to prick up under the breeze of her breathy laugh. "I — "

 _Jesus_.

He manages a wobbly sounding, "mmm," in response.

"Sorry I didn't quite catch that —" she teases, her thumb and finger pinching a little harder this time; the pads of them, warm, and vibrating and pleasantly dulled by the fabric of his cotton shirt.

"That's…" he moistens his lips. "Good. It's good," he admits.

She chuckles again. "So this, over lunch then?"

Was that a question? He wasn't listening.

He'd like lunch. He should get lunch. Plus lunch with Karen is nice. The day will go by so quickly afterwards.

But then. 

Then there's this.

She touches a particularly tender spot that makes him wince, but when he breathes out the pain disperses and it's good. Sharp, but clarifying. The feeling of his blood being drawn towards her fingertips, burning his skin hot and then draining away, which in turn, begins to melt at the tension that's clumped around the crook of his jaw, his temples and the base of his skull. 

He doesn't realise he's making any noise until she stops and the room is suddenly quiet, his low grumbling ceasing to fill it.

"You're not making this easy for me," she hums hotly in his ear. Biting her lip now too, he notices. 

He notices a lot of things when he gets his head out of his ass and focuses his attention on her.

"Making what easy?" Matt smirks.

Karen sighs.

But it's not an impatient sigh. More….frustrated, Matt thinks.

But he's thinking clean thoughts. Professional thoughts. 

He's a lawyer. He's at work.

He's a professional.

But then her fingers abandon his shoulders and slip over bare skin before dipping into his hairline, her nails trim and pleasantly sharp. His scalp fizzles at the connection.

They spread amongst the roots of his hair and the only sound he can find himself making is an embarrassing, half-held-in grunt, which accumulates into a violent shudder of nerves and synapses and muscle twinges, firing and mis-firing.

Matt reaches back, defeated. "Karen… " he says hazily, searching for her fingers. "I do love you." 

Karen giggles and it's a perfect symphony of sound, muted when she pecks his cheek. "Where's Foggy?" she asks.

Such a loaded question.

Matt's brought back to earth by the sudden and deafening irrelevance of it. "Erm.... Conference room? I think. Finishing up. Why?"

Matt notes her considered pause. 

"I have a proposal for you," she says simply, pursing her lips. Her pulse, running too fast.

Her hand grasps the arm of his chair and she pushes him around, angling him towards her. Matt frowns. Confused. 

"Can you guess what it is?" Karen starts to lower herself, eventually crouching between his knees with her elbows propped high on his thighs. 

Is she…? 

Matt doesn't answer. Instead, Karen walks her fingers from his knee to the crease where the fabric gathers at his crotch, stretching up to glance back over her shoulder.

Checking that the blinds are shut?

Matt has to force himself to blink.

"Karen.."

"It would help, wouldn't it?" He tastes her salvia when she licks her lips. "Clear your head," she says.

Here? 

At work? 

"You don't have to do that —"

"— no, but I want to."

Matt swallows.

When she moves her hand again she skims the outline of him, and he's been hard for a while — a back rub will do that to a man — but now he's _throbbing_ — aching. Unbearably so, at the mere thought of being inside Karen — _anywhere_ inside Karen. 

Matt eventually manages a nod. Because, _yes_ , that would help. Even if it doesn't help, even if he's lying. He's not going to say no.

Especially when Karen lets out a pleased little mewing sound at his response that only makes him crave her more.

"Will you keep an ear out for me?" she asks.

He'll try. Shit, he'll have to. Unless he never wants to work here again.

But there's multitasking. And there's _multitasking_. 

And Matt's not particularly good at either.

"I'll try," he reassures her.

In the next moment she's working open his belt. Then his zipper. Her palm runs lightly at first, up his shaft, then more weightily, until she's grasping it through the fabric. She flicks her blouse off of her shoulders and Matt reaches down towards the naked skin that's exposed and tingling with warmth, thumbing her collarbone as she lifts and tugs down the waistband of his boxers.

He's breathing hard already. He can't control it. Dizzy from the rush — the scent of her, her own breath deflecting off of his skin, his blood running wild all over his body.

He feels charged. Needy. Irrational. 

But Karen doesn't rush; despite the fact that she probably should. She licks a hot, slick, line up the underside of his cock. Slow and purposeful, her eyes on him. Watching his face.

"Jesus, Karen," he groans. His mouth open and quiet.

"Good?" She smiles and it's so innocent.

Matt has to give her a look. "You're gonna get me fired."

"Can you get fired from your own firm?"

He's managed it before.

"Don't answer that," she says and before he can get another word in, her hand wraps solidly around him, bringing him towards her mouth, circling her tongue skillfully so that she's tasting him, moaning into him. Rigid along the slit.

Fuck. 

Only God knows why she chooses to moan his name at the exact moment he enters her, but the way the edges of the word blur out when she makes a seal around the tip of him with her lips…

He'll accept, with dignity, that he's not in this one for stamina.

And of course this isn't new. Though, up until now it's always been more of a side dish than a main course. And it's different here. At work. At his own desk — with people around. Everything is more intense. More heightened. 

And the heat. The suction. _God_. Each one of the individual bumps on her tongue is an exquisite contrast against the velvety smoothness of her cheek. It's so much, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

But he tries to be proactive. The hand that Matt's been resting on Karen's shoulder moves to carefully cup her face, skimming the shell of her ear until he's got a firm fist around her ponytail. She comes up on her knees a little more to get a better angle, to take him a little deeper. But still not all the way — just until she meets her fingers; all four knuckles wrapped around the base of him, spit-soaked and moving rhythmically in time with her mouth. When she pulls back briefly for air, her lips separate from him with a wet smack that's just as much as a taste as it is a sound.

"..shit, Matt.." she hums, cocking her head. Her other hand moves from where it's resting on his thigh and she edges it under his shirt. Up. _Up_ until she's at the end of her reach, her fingers curled in the middle of his chest.

Another pathetic sounding groan slips out of him when she dips her head back down again, this time without her hand.

Taking him all the way in.

 _"Fuck_ , Karen, sweetheart—"

She responds with what Matt thinks is a noise of approval? But it's hard to tell.

Maybe they are doing pet names now. 

The micro vibrations from her throat undulate through him, only adding to the momentum that's building.

White-knuckling the chair arm, Matt drives up his hips, politely forcing her to take more of him, and he feels bad at first, when he hits her soft palate and she chokes, pulling back and drawing in a cool zip of air before she sinks back down onto him again, hungrily.

Within seconds he's tethered to the edge. He taps her shoulder to warn her and she slows to a near stop, causing him to surge and then starve at the last moment. 

The pleasure throb it gives him is so intense that he thinks about begging. 

"..Karen…" _Please_. "Keep g —"

Then she's moving faster again; her hand and her mouth slipping and jolting messily, _his_ hand tightening in her hair — his knees and thighs locked like they're set in concrete.

Matt comes hard and long. Tripping into a blackness that only happens when he forgets and focuses entirely at once. 

He fills her mouth. Her throat. Tilts his chin back and let's it run out of him until he's spent, and soft, and thinking of nothing. 

And it's perfect.

It's only when Matt realises he hasn't been keeping an ear out at all, that he panics. 

Luckily, Foggy is still in the conference room, and they're not going to get caught, not today. Which is absolutely no thanks to him.

"So are you ready for lunch now?" Karen whispers, wiping her chin.

Matt laughs, contemplating whether he should make the joke or not. He decides that he will. "Aren't you full?" 

She bats his wrist and her face flushes with satisfying rush of warmth. "Apparently not. With you.."

Matt will take that.

Plus, he'll return the favour later. Probably twice. Maybe even three times.

But right now? 

Lunch.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
